At the Turning of the Year

A World in Quiet Transition

As one year closes and another begins, it feels natural to pause—not in celebration or despair, but in reflection. Over time, something subtle yet significant has shifted in how many of us live and work, often so gradually that we only notice it when we stop to take stock. Work feels less certain than it once did, institutions feel less steady, and long-held assumptions about security and progression no longer hold in the same way. In many places, even organisations themselves seem to have taken on a kind of precarity—constantly restructuring, re-aligning, and reacting—so that instability becomes part of organisational identity rather than an exception to it. In this landscape, people learn to adapt quietly, carrying uncertainty as part of daily life.

This is not a personal shortcoming, but a shared experience unfolding across countries and cultures. Roles evolve, disappear, and re-emerge under new names, while uncertainty settles into the background. Conversations around race, belief, and belonging have grown more complex—sometimes louder, sometimes more fragile. Psychology and wellbeing language, which can offer insight and healing, is increasingly woven into organisational and social life, and in that process, its quieter, more compassionate aspects can sometimes be lost. At times, psychological frameworks are applied in ways that privilege assessment, authority, or process over relationship and care, and it is often ordinary people and families who feel the weight of those outcomes.

Surrounded by Plenty, Searching for Meaning

We live in a time of extraordinary availability, yet many people speak of a quiet sense of lack. Fast fashion and constant production offer endless choice but little satisfaction, and consumerism often fills space rather than creating connection. Care, too, can begin to feel rushed or transactional. Within families, distance can grow where closeness once lived, and intergenerational understanding can falter under the weight of modern pressures. These changes rarely announce themselves loudly, yet they shape how people feel, relate, and belong.

Changing Ways of Learning and Working

Learning and work have taken on new rhythms in recent years, shaped by speed, efficiency, and constant adjustment. In workplaces, roles are redefined quickly, tasks are outsourced, and people are expected to remain productive amid uncertainty, often with fewer protections and less continuity. Artificial intelligence has entered this space with genuine promise, offering support, insight, and new ways of thinking, yet it has also quietly altered expectations around pace, output, and replaceability. When technology is discussed alongside job losses and shifting roles, it invites reflection on how progress is being shaped—and who it is ultimately meant to serve.

These same patterns are increasingly visible in education. Learning has shifted significantly, not only through the rise of AI, but through the growth of cheap, heavily advertised third-party services offering assignment completion “without plagiarism.” For some students—particularly those studying in a new country or language, often under visa, financial, and cultural pressures—education can become less about learning and more about survival: getting marks, meeting deadlines, and moving on. In this environment, reliance on external support mirrors what is happening in the workplace, where speed, outsourcing, and completion are often valued more than understanding, development, or voice.

Across both work and education, the underlying logic feels strikingly similar. Process matters less than outcome, depth less than delivery, and presence less than performance. These shifts rarely reflect individual failure; they point instead to systems that reward speed over meaning and efficiency over formation. They invite us to pause and ask not only how we work and learn, but what kind of humans these patterns are shaping us to become.

What Remains Uniquely Human

One of the most grounding lessons of the past year has been a renewed appreciation for the uniqueness of human experience. While technology can mirror certain cognitive functions, it cannot reproduce the emotional depth formed through memory, love, loss, hope, and contradiction. Humans are not simply problem-solvers or information processors; we are meaning-makers, shaped as much by what we feel as by what we know.

Stories have long explored this distinction. Those familiar with Star Trek may recall Data, an intelligent being who longed not for greater capability, but for understanding, emotion, and belonging. His journey was slow and singular, suggesting that humanity is not something that can be replicated at scale. The presence of his counterpart, Lore—equally intelligent yet ethically unanchored—quietly reminds us that intelligence alone is not enough; it is conscience that gives it direction.

Humans, too, carry both light and shadow. We are capable of harm and of profound care, and it is in navigating this tension that our humanity lives. No system truly grieves, no algorithm holds silence with loss, and no machine forgives and hopes again after disappointment. Technology can assist us, support reflection, and extend our thinking when used with care, but it cannot replace the inner life that gives human experience its depth.

Learning Gently from the Past

Looking back is not about blame, but about learning. Many norms once accepted without question now reveal their limitations, reminding us that silence is not always peace and endurance is not always wellbeing. Rest, boundaries, and self-preservation matter deeply, yet they are most sustaining when they do not come at the cost of others’ dignity.

Conversations around equity, diversity, and inclusion invite particular care. When approached thoughtfully, they can create understanding and fairness; when rushed or performative, they risk deepening division. Focusing on shared humanity alongside difference, listening before labelling, and choosing justice over certainty allows these conversations to remain humane rather than ideological.

A Gentle Intention for the Year Ahead

As we move forward, I am trying to hold on to this: to look for what is still positive even when circumstances feel difficult, to learn honestly from the past, and to be willing to change cultural norms that no longer serve us. Removing toxicity matters, but so does remembering that self-preservation does not have to come at the cost of harming others. I want to work in ways that honour our shared humanity, and when we speak about equity, diversity, and inclusion, to focus as much on what connects us as on what differentiates us. Justice, for me, is not loud or performative; it is quiet, consistent, and humane. Peace, I believe, grows out of that. And as AI becomes more present in our lives, my intention is to use it ethically, thoughtfully, and without losing my humanness.

That, simply, is my plan.